Batman: The World's Greatest Detective
by Batguy
Summary: When there is a murder of a guest at a party at Wayne Manor, Batman must discover the identity of the killer and survive their scheming... can the Dark Knight Detective solve this mystery, or has he finally met his match?
1. Chapter 1

_**BATMAN: THE WORLD'S GREATEST DETECTIVE**_

_**---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

**_DISCLAIMER: _**

_**I own no recognisable characters in this story (basically Bruce/ Batman and Alfred).**_

_**----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**_

_**CHAPTER ONE: The Party and the Past**_

Bruce Wayne grimaced as he entered the ballroom of Wayne Manor. Guests danced around him, and Wayne sighed. He _loathed_ these wretched parties, where he had to appear with his _real mask_: as a pampered, partying playboy. He would much rather have been leaping rooftops and dodging bullets in his guise as the Batman.

"Bruce! How good to see you!" An old woman hurried towards him. She spoke with an English accent, and leaned on a thick, knotted walking stick. He could not recall her name, "How long has it been?"

"Uh…"

"No matter! Too long, too long, dear," the woman beamed, her cheeks bright red, "It must have been way back in Venice, my dear! You recall? It must have been at least five years. You do remember me, don't you, Brucie?"

"I'm afraid I…"

"Ah, I am Helena Jarvis, you remember? You used to play with my little boy, John."

Bruce had a vague vision of a small, skinny boy with round, baby-blue eyes and scruffy blond hair. He had never known John Jarvis well, and had certainly never been a great friend of the boy. They had had no animosity but… well, Bruce was top of every damn class, and John was, to put it bluntly, both academically and emotionally… _moronic._

"I do," Bruce smiled and tapped a waiter on the shoulder, snatching up a glass of red wine from a tray, "A drink, Mrs. Jarvis?"

"Ms." Bruce looked blankly at her, so Helena Jarvis explained, "Ms. Jarvis… Arvin passed away several years ago… and I prefer not to be reminded of my loss with such a title."

"I'm sorry. How…?"

"Oh, cancer," Jarvis sniffed into a handkerchief, "But don't be sorry. It had been coming for a long time, since Johnny killed himself…"

"Why?"

"I… I don't know…"

Bruce patted Ms. Jarvis gently on the shoulder, and soon found himself trying to comfort her outbreak of tears, though Jarvis soon took her leave to go to the lavatory, and Wayne was ushered over to a group of businessman seated around the fireplace, sipping wine and arguing. It was quite a crowd, too, Bruce thought: Cuban _legitimate_ businessman Diego Sanchez, slimy old Henry D'Arbanville, D'Arbanville's old rival Edward Sloane, and Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprise's CEO.

"Henry here was just saying…" began Sanchez. Bruce was very surprised at how comfortable Sanchez and D'Arbanville were in each others' presence- he had not seen them together before, and Diego was a very formal surname-centric man, but they seemed close, "…that morality is a thing that must sometimes be sacrificed for business. What do _you_ think, Mr. Wayne?"

"I think…" Bruce paused to think for a moment, "I think that… morality is necessary in any age of any venture- anywhere."

"Agreed," Lucius Fox nodded his head.

Sanchez swore under his breath in Spanish, and lit a Cuban cigar, taking a long, exasperated drag. He and D'Arbanville exchanged a significant look- one that Bruce and Fox both noted.

However, after that, the party was somewhat elementary. Shortly after midnight, the last few guests- Mr. and Mrs. Darbanville with their daughter Juliette, Diego Sanchez, Eddie Sloane, and Ms. Jarvis- sat around the fire, as Bruce and his butler, Alfred, hurried down a hallway, Bruce slipping off his bow tie and dinner jacket.

"Sir, you _can't _go now, the guests will miss you!" hissed Alfred.

"It's hardly the first time, Alfred… there were plenty of beautiful women to account for my disappearance, old friend," Bruce smiled slightly for the first time that night, as he headed for an old grandfather clock, "Besides, there's been a disturbance at the _Sanchez Corporation_ and I want Diego kept out of the way when I have a look round. Keep the guests happy… you know a joke or two, right?"

"Of course, sir," Alfred replied stiffly, and he nodded and turned heel and walked away back towards the ballroom, as the clock slipped away and his employer swept down into the depths of the huge cavern known as the _Bat Cave._

Wayne did not reply, he just forced the clock back into place (_the mechanism's getting stiff, _he thought, _that needs seeing to_) and then he was descending down a stony staircase.

Three minutes later, the Batmobile burst through a waterfall and sped on towards Gotham City. _The Batman_ sat at the wheel, steering as the communication screen crackled on to reveal the face of Police Lieutenant James Gordon.

"Batman, there's been an attack on SanCorp! Arson… and there are armed gunmen everywhere in the compound… we can't get within a hundred yards without killing the workers!"

"I'm on it, Jim," the Dark Knight replied calmly, and tapped a second screen on the Batmobile, "Computer: Detailed blueprints of the Sanchez Corporation Gotham facility."

"Why don't _we_ get that kind of hardware?" grumbled Gordon, "With that kind of tech, we wouldn't need you!"

Batman just grunted in reply, and the lieutenant seemed unsure of what to say next. Batman soon flicked off the monitor and sped through the barricaded gates of SanCorp, knocking wood and steel aside like so much dust, then he ejected from the vehicle and fired off his grapple, shedding the car seat as he swung onto a wall and kicked a gunman to the ground.

"Billy?" A shout issued from along the wall. Bruce glanced at the burning main building, and wondered what he should do now. He moved instinctively, like a cat… like a leaf in the wind… and was gone, moving in the shadows of the wall to bring two men crashing down, and then he picked up the one called Billy's radio as it crackled on:

"Bill? You there?"

The Dark Knight did his best to imitate a thuggish voice, and thought he did pretty _damn_ well considering the circumstances:

"Fine, man, thought I saw somethin' a minute ago back there- just a bat." The vigilante smirked at his own joke, "All's fine, dude."

"Great," the man at the other end sounded relieved, "Well, get on down to the garages. We need a hand in dealing with the frickin' prisoners."

"On it, man."

Batman smiled again. _The garages._ _Perfect… LOTS of cover… plenty of margin for error._

He grappled down and landed on the garage skylight, peering in. About twelve punks with guns had what the Dark Knight estimated to be thirty prisoners huddled up in the centre of the room. There was plenty of car cover in the shadows. As quietly as possible, Batman levered the skylight open, and dropped inside. A thug spun around.

Gunfire rattled past, and pinged off the steel walls.

"What the hell you doin', Frankie!?" yelled the mook that Batman had spoken to on the radio.

"Thought I saw somethin', Lou," grunted Frankie, "Maybe even the Bat…"

"Go check it then, don't blast those snipers a nice li'l hole to pop us through, jackass!" yelled the man called Lou, and Frankie nodded, slowly venturing towards a Sanchez Corp lorry, upon which Batman was hunched. Slowly, silently, he reached down and snapped off the wing mirror, holding it over the edge where Frankie stood…

_Thwack! _Francis Maloney keeled over. The Dark Knight crouched silently still.

"Frank!?"

"Here, Lou, 'm fine!" Batman called, dropping behind the lorry, "Jus' checkin' bit more."

"You sure?" The Caped Crusader heard Lou's footsteps draw closer. He poised himself, swung round behind a second lorry and thrust out a fist with pinpoint precision. Lou let out a tiny yelp as he fell.

"Holy crap! You hear that?" A thug panicked as he heard the squeak, "Louie!? Frankie!? You guys OK!? Oh, jeez, it's the Bat!"

"Or somethin' worse," said another, "I heard he don't kill… but his friends sure do."

"Who…?"

"You know that Cat-Chick? And what about that techno Batman we had runnin' round a couple years back?"

Batman listened for a moment, and then loosed four gas pellets. They exploded, spraying smoke across the garage. The goons began coughing and retching, and then Wayne was upon them. He drove his fists hard into two of their faces, and swung his elbow into another's chin- moving by instinct and hearing, not vision!

His leg whirled up in a kick here, and he flowed into a punch there, as he knocked goons aside with ease. Soon enough, it was over and the smoke had subsided. The Dark Knight Detective towered over the huddled hostages, as police ran in.

"It's okay now," he muttered, "It's over." And then he was gone…


	2. Chapter 2

_**BATMAN: THE WORLD'S GREATEST DETECTIVE**_

_**CHAPTER TWO: The Murder and the Mystery**_

Bruce was halfway across Gotham, rushing for the site of a gunfight at a pawn shop when Alfred's face crackled onto the comm-screen.

"Sir." The butler looked concerned, "Master Bruce, we need you here A.S.A.P."

"What is it, Alfred? Are you alright?" Bruce asked.

"Yes, sir, but I fear Mr. D'Arbanville does not share my status."

"What happened?"

Batman stared at the clock. It was half past two in the morning. Alfred must have let the guests stay, and surely people like D'Arbanville and Sanchez could take any normal intruder. Hell, Alfred was no weakling… that meant that either a _supervillain_ was at Wayne Manor, or…

"He's been murdered, sir."

"Who the hell…?"

"I don't know, Master Wayne, that's the problem!"

Bruce turned off the screen and flicked on the police scanner. The line was crackling frantically:

"We need reinforcements! Someone get us some freaking backup! These punks are walkin' all over us!"

He gritted his teeth, and hurtled down the road, allowing the Batmobile to burst through into the pawnbrokers and he was out in a flash, loosing batarangs with pinpoint precision. Three guns fell to the ground, three gangsters went with them. Four more were standing, firing at the hero, with two others holding off the final cop- two policemen were down, and probably dead.

_I failed. _That was the Dark Knight's last coherent thought for half of a minute. Then he was just a beast, a primitive creature, yet as elegant and smooth as a ballet dancer. He felled two men with his eyes tight shut, and he just allowed his instincts to guide him, kicking one thug so he knocked over another, and he plunged down to deliver the knock-out blow!

Five of them, now really ready, dashed in, hoping to overwhelm him. Now, Batman was coherent as ever, eyes open. He had his grappling gun in hand, and fired a cord into the ceiling, flipping away, so the gunmen crashed together, and he dropped down, kicking with perfection. With a final elbow to a cocky thug's nose, the deed was done… _but not without cost._

Batman inclined his head gravely to Jim Gordon, and was gone, up through a broken window and out, dropping into the alley. He had already set the Batmobile to autopilot and sure enough found it a few hundred yards down the road. He leapt into the cockpit and sped off for Wayne Manor.

"Sir! Hurry! The police are here and want to search the manor!" Alfred's rippling face appeared on the screen, which had evidently sustained damage in the crash, "HURRY!"

The screen flickered off. Batman flicked on the autopilot controls for the Cave's hidden entrance and then was soon speeding through mudtracks and bogs, until he left the road and crashed through a waterfall. The car slammed against the rock floor far too hard, and he felt a tire crack completely. Bruce ejected just in time as the car tilted sideways and hung loosely from two wheels.

It would need a little repair work, he thought, as he changed into his tuxedo, and set the Cave to maximum security. Panels and lifts activated to conceal any evidence of it being the Batman's residence, and then he slipped up and listened by the grandfather clock. There were raised voices outside- he recognised Alfred's and… _oh god… _Jim Gordon was there, with another cop.

Bruce leapt down the winding stone path, darting down to the centre of the cave. He stared up at the well high above, and then reached into his inside jacket pocket, producing a wound grapple cord. He whirled it and threw. The line looped around a high stalactite and he reeled up, then scaled the rocks with ease, emerging out of the old well in the grounds of Wayne Manor. He slipped by some cops and clambered a hedge, then took a long turn, so he soon managed to come hurrying in down the path towards the main gate. A cop saw him.

"What the hell's going on!?" Bruce feigned ignorance as he ran for the policeman.

"There's been a murder, Mr. Wayne, you gotta come with us," a second cop, a sergeant, spoke. He was tall and very thin, with scraggy blond hair. He was toying with his handgun, which made Bruce like him all the less.

"Who? Who's been killed? One of my guests!?" Bruce stared at the cop in fear. He had to be a good actor in the superhero business.

"Mr. Henry D'Arbanville, Mr. Wayne, and we need to question you," the other policeman was speaking now. He was clearly older- in his fifties- with greyed brown hair, cut short, and stubble covering the lower half of his face.

About ten minutes later, Bruce was sat in his study with Jim Gordon and a lieutenant who clearly seemed to have _much_ better relations with Mayor Hill than Gordon- a man named Akins. Michael Akins. Indeed, for the five minutes before the interview (or _interrogation_) the two cops merely snapped at each other over who would control the interview, and soon enough Akins began questioning Bruce.

"Mr. Wayne, why did you leave Wayne Manor tonight while your guests stayed here overnight?"

"They were to stay overnight?" This was news to Bruce.

"So your butler says."

"I'm afraid Alfred must have made such an offer while I was out."

"And where the hell did you go!?"

Akins' breath stank of stale alcohol, and tobacco. He glared across at Bruce, leaning over the desk, and saliva flicked from his mouth over the billionaire.

"Akins…" began Gordon, starting to rise.

"Jim, I can handle this," spat Akins, not even looking at his fellow cop, "Mr. Wayne, answer the damn question!"

"I was called away urgently to Wayne Enterprises. They heard that the Sanchez Corporation was under attack, and wanted to know how we could possibly respond. We have our own assets at SanCorp too, lieutenant."

"I see…" began Gordon, but then Akins cut in, bellowing:

"Mr. Wayne, you are a primary suspect in this case so you better get your fucking act together or I swear to god I'll blow your pretty head right off here and now! Diego Sanchez is here right now, yet you didn't tell him about the Goddam attack on SanCorp!?"

Bruce looked up, perfectly calmly at Akins:

"First off, I was in a hurry, I wanted to get to and back to the party as soon as possible. And second… you're offending me with your stinking breath and your spitting, lieutenant, so either stop… _or I will ask for you to get the hell out of my house_!"

Akins was taken aback for a moment, and Gordon took the chance to say:

"Thanks. That's all for now. We'll have to ask you to stay in other lodgings tonight, naturally, with the murder investigation here. But be somewhere where you can be contacted and found at all times."

"Of course, Lieutenant Gordon."

Bruce hurried out, as Michael Akins shook with anger…


End file.
